Cursed Namesake
by Ael L. Bolt
Summary: After the festival, Marty thinks about Seamus’ brother. No slash.


Cursed Namesake   
By Ael L. Bolt

Rating: PG   
Genre: Angst   
Summary: After the festival, Marty thinks about Seamus' brother. No slash.

Author's Note: I was always somewhat disappointed that they didn't show anything about Marty between the festival and the next morning. Honestly, Marty has got a _lot_ to think about regarding his temper and where he could end up because of it. In any case, this plot bunny bit me at two in the morning, so here I am, doggedly finishing this so I can get some sleep, dammit.

- - - - - - - - -

"He reminds me of poor Martin."

"Aye."

I feel a strange twinge as they speak my full first name, almost as if they know who I am...no, don't be silly, McFly. They must be talking about a friend or something. "Who?" I ask casually as we stroll away from the festival.

"Me brother," Seamus replies quietly, glancing over at me with a look of...pity?

I hardly notice what his expression is. There's another Martin McFly? Why the hell haven't I heard of him before? "Wait a minute, wait a minute," I exclaim, turning to face my ancestor. Seamus reluctantly meets my eyes. "You have a brother named Martin McFly?" I repeat, astounded at the coincidence. Before I screwed up the timeline, I might've been named for that guy...maybe I'll get to see him before I have to leave.

"_Had_ a brother," Seamus gently corrects me.

...oh. Well. That explains why I haven't heard of him, I suppose.

I'm not quite sure what to say to that, but Seamus speaks up again. "Martin used to let men provoke him into fighting," he explains, throwing a quick glance at Maggie. "He was concerned that people would think him a coward if he refused." Well, that sounds familiar enough.

"That's how he got a bowie knife shoved through his belly in a saloon in Virginia City."

_That_ hits me like a bolt of lightning. Holy shit...

I'm hardly aware that I'm gaping at Seamus like an absolute idiot, but my soft-spoken ancestor doesn't seem to notice. "Never considered the future, poor Martin," he remarks forlornly. "God rest his soul." Then, before I can say a word, he just walks off.

For some reason, Maggie doesn't go with him right away. We watch Seamus retreat, and then she looks over at me. "Sure'n I hope you're considering the future, Mr. Eastwood," she comments hopefully, and smiles slightly before following her husband.

I feel almost rooted to the spot, watching my ancestors disappear into the night. Oh, the irony...if only they knew what exactly their words meant to me. The future... "I think about it all the time," I reply belatedly, too quiet to be heard.

The band continues playing, and the townsfolk continue dancing, but the spirit of the party seems to have fled with the arrival of that Tannen jerk. Doc and Clara are gone too...and now, Seamus and Maggie are gone, leaving me alone to my thoughts.

Another man I don't know is trying to get through the crowd to talk to me...probably wanting to congratulate me on agreeing to face down Mad Dog...but I'd rather be alone right now, so I weave my way out of the crowd and head back towards Doc's barn.

The barn isn't too far away, but in the dark it seems like a million miles with just me and the stars. I sit down on a barrel and tilt my head back to look up at the sky. So...Seamus had a brother. A brother named Martin, just like me, who let himself get into fights just because he didn't want to have people think he's chicken. Story of my life.

I can't help but wonder how old Martin must've been when he died. Couldn't have been too recently...Seamus didn't look absolutely devastated by it, as if he was used to no longer having his brother. Maybe Martin was only seventeen...

A chill runs up my spine as a picture flashes into my mind: a seventeen-year old boy, sprawled out on the hard wood floors with a knife embedded in his stomach, bleeding everywhere, blue eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling...

I shudder and close my eyes. No...I _won't_ turn out like Martin did. I'm not going to die.

Except...

What if my temper really _is_ out of control? By Monday, I could be as dead as Martin, except with a bullet in my heart instead of a knife in the gut. I hate it when people call me chicken, but...is it really that big of a deal? Shouldn't I just walk away; let them think what they want while I know the truth? No one would think I'm a coward, Seamus said so himself...

No. That can't be true. They'll never know I'm not a chicken unless I show them. That's just the way it is...right? Yeah. That's got to be it. I'm smarter than them, so naturally I have to come out on top. Martin was probably just careless.

I shouldn't sit out here so long. It's cold, and leaving me to my own thoughts is getting me nowhere. I'm sure it'll all turn out just fine...Doc and I will get back to 1985, and then it won't matter what they think of me because they'll all be dead. Shuddering, I push open the barn door and step inside.

The darkness of the interior of the barn is even blacker than the night outside, but I merely feel my way over to my makeshift bed. No sense in giving a light to the darkness if it's only temporary.

Temporary...like Martin's life.

Like _my_ life.

No! Stop thinking like that, McFly. You're nothing like Martin. You won't end up like him. The only thing you share is the name, and that you get a little hotheaded when someone calls you a coward. That's all.

That has to be it.

His name doesn't connect him to me at all.

As I set my hat to the side, I recall my mental image with frightening clarity in the darkness. Martin's face is _my_ face. He is me, and I am him.

Come on, McFly, stop doing this to yourself. Just go to sleep, and it'll all be forgotten by morning. I stretch out on the cot and close my eyes, trying to sink into sleep as fast as I can.

But there's no escape from the image of my cursed namesake.


End file.
